


Ships, Planes, and Automobiles

by Pineprin137



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Airsickness, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxious Sam Winchester, Aviophobia, Baby Needs a Bath, Caring Sam Winchester, Claustrophobic Dean Winchester, Dean Might Too, Dean Winchester Whump, Flashbacks, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hell Trauma, Helpful Sam Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Misery, Motion Sickness, Panic Attacks, Poor Dean Winchester, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam Gets to Drive!, Seasickness, Sick Dean Winchester, Worried Sam Winchester, carsickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 19:14:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21020858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineprin137/pseuds/Pineprin137
Summary: Three reasons why Dean Winchester drives...





	1. Ebb and Flow

**Author's Note:**

> Please be forewarned, Sam uses some pretty gross imagery in Chapter 1 to "help" Dean out.

“_ Hey, Sammy _… ” 

Sam glances up from the book he’s reading to over where Dean stands near the railing. “Yeah?” 

“I don’t think I like boats…” His brother’s normal sarcastic snark has been reduced to a weak raspy whisper. 

Sam’s brow creases and he sets the book aside. After rising from the deck chair, he joins Dean at the railing. His brother immediately turns to rest his clammy forehead on Sam’s shoulder.

Sam feels the desperate movement of his throat when Dean swallows thickly and trepidation leaks into his unusually good mood._ There is just something so relaxing about the bump of gentle waves and the tang of fresh sea air to Sam._

He places his arm around his brother’s body and asks, “Dean? You alright?” 

“_ Sure -ulp-_ right as rain… ” Dean says weakly, gritting his teeth as he swallows yet more saliva. Its been pooling in his mouth for the last twenty minutes.

Dean shivers in the cool ocean breeze, wishing he and his brother were back onshore. The rocking of the boat had been kind of nice at first but the further out to sea they got, the more his stomach sloshed in time with the waves. 

Sam grows more concerned by the minute. He leans down and finds his brother’s freckles standing out starkly on his pale face. The last piece of the puzzle slots into place. Sam wants to smack himself for not catching on to his brother’s ailment earlier. 

“Dean… why didn’t you tell me you get seasick?” 

Dean groans and places a hand against his roiling stomach before answering, “Didn’t know. Never been on a b -- _ urrp - _\- boat before.” Sam cringes as Dean smothers the soft burp into his sleeve, feeling disgusted yet sympathetic. 

“Alright, why don’t we sit down? I’ll get you a ginger ale from the bar, it should help settle your stomach.” 

Dean gives a small nod and Sam gently leads them over to a quiet table. Close enough that his sick brother can suddenly bolt if needed, yet secluded enough that there won’t be a million witnesses should that happen. 

While Sam walks back inside, Dean sat down gingerly in one of the chairs and buries his head in his arms. Each wave that rocks the boat is causing an echoing wave in his stomach. And of course, today had to be the day he gorged himself at breakfast, so his belly is nice and full. 

Yesterday, Dean only ate scrambled eggs, bacon, and coffee, but today the inn they were staying at put out a full spread and he had decided to indulge. He’d tried each flavor of danish, eaten a stack of fluffy pancakes, had a bowl of cinnamon brown sugar oatmeal, a glass of orange juice, a small cup of hot chocolate, and three muffins. Then there were the three heaping platefuls of smoky sausage, crispy bacon, and roasted potatoes. And thanks to the headache he’d been sporting that morning, he’d finished it off with four steaming cups of coffee. 

As he sat at the table, Dean could practically feel the entire congealed mess inside of him, swirling around, waiting for one large wave to push him over. _ Ugh _ , _ why had he eaten so much today! _

He should’ve taken a page out of Sam’s book, had a small bowl of oatmeal, a Greek yogurt parfait, and a small orange juice. Although Dean drew the line at his brother’s preferred cup of coffee-flavored sugar water... 

_ Okay _ , _ thinking about food is _ not _ helping _ . In fact, he feels worse, like a _ lot _worse…

Dean lifts his head up and concentrates on keeping down whichever breakfast item is trying to climb up his throat. _ Just breathe. _ He can do this. It’s no big deal. He’ll just breathe through it and the desire to toss his cookies will pass… _ Man up, Winchester! Eyes on the horizon. _

Sam carefully carries the glass of ginger ale over to their table and frowns when he sees it’s empty. He looks over to the railing and sighs, finding his brother hunched over, white-knuckling the metal bar. Sam approaches slowly, not wanting to startle him into losing his breakfast, and nudges him before offering the glass. 

“Try a sip, it’ll help.” 

Dean looks up and grimaces at the green-tinged beverage. It doesn’t look particularly appetizing right now and he doesn’t really want to drink it. 

He shakes his head and resumes staring at the water, “No thanks, Doc. I’m good.” 

“C’ mon, Dean. Ginger is a proven remedy for nausea. Pregnant women swear by it when attempting to prevent or relieve morning sickness.”

“Yeah, well… I’m not pregnant, so…_ thanks _, but no. ” 

The younger man rolls his eyes. Dean can be so damn stubborn sometimes! But luckily, Sam knows _ exactly _ what to do. If Dean doesn’t want to try this the easy way, there is always the hard way… 

Sam places his free hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezes gently before speaking, “_ Alright _, we’ll go with the other one then.” 

Dean raises his eyes from the water and frowns, “... _ other _one?” 

His brother nods, “Yeah. Ginger helps soothe an upset stomach, but this one is a sure-fire to get rid of your nausea. No way you won’t feel better afterward.” 

Dean narrows his eyes in suspicion. Sam maintains a straight face and leans forward so his elbows rest next to Dean’s. 

“Dean. Are you _ sure _ it’s motion sickness? Maybe it was just all that _ food _.” 

Confusion colors Dean’s face and he turns to Sam with an eyebrow arched. 

Sam ignores him and continues, “I mean,_ geez _ , Dean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat _ that much food _ … _ ever _ . The sheer amount was actually impressive. I would’ve called it quits but you just kept going! Dragging, what? _ Twenty _ pieces of bacon through your eggs. Sunnyside up, of course. Just the way you like ‘em.” Sam winks and notes how much paler Dean seems now. “No wonder you’re feeling sick! Anyone would after eating all that!” 

He slaps Dean’s back and the man jerks forward with an aborted gag. “I honestly don’t know how you can eat your eggs cooked like that. They just look like snot to me! But you? You could eat bacon and runny eggs for days! All you need to be satisfied is a big ol’ helping of fried pig fat dipped in snot.” 

Dean raises his fist to his mouth and swallows thickly. He’s breathing only through his nose now and clenches his eyes shut as he leans a little further forward. 

Sam knows his brother is close to losing it. He just needs a _ little _more encouragement… 

“But then again, who am I to talk? I prefer oatmeal and yogurt. And boy did that oatmeal this morning look _ dis _ gusting.” He leans back and raises his voice to mimic the hostess at the inn, “ _ I actually like it better with lumps. You should try it, dear. _Still can’t believe I managed it, I mean, honestly! It looked like a bowl of creamy dog vom--” 

With a groan, Dean pitches forward and projectile vomits into the water. He coughs hard and brings up another mouthful of sick. Disgust floods him as it comes out of his nose and drips onto his hand. 

Now that his big brother has given in to his body’s demands, it looks like someone turned on a faucet. It just keeps coming so Dean accepts his fate and simply hangs over the railing, letting nature take its course. 

Next to him, Sam grins and takes a sip of the ginger ale still in his hand before resting his free hand lightly on Dean’s back. 

“Told ya it would work.” 


	2. Up In the Air

“Of course, yeah, we’ll let you know when we get there. Should be around four unless the weather turns. They said there was a chance of storms off the coast,” Sam relays the information to Jody while keeping one eye on the man sitting next to him. 

The brothers are currently headed to Ireland. They’d decided that the best way to honor Eileen was to travel to her homeland and gank some Irish baddies. So, a few days ago, they had booked a flight. A_ flight_, even though Dean was scared to death of airplanes. Yeah, to say Sam was shocked when Dean agreed to accompany him on a fucking _twelve-hour_ _flight_ to another continent would be a huge understatement. Sam still remembers the short trip they took to Scotland when Bobby asked them to dig up Crowley’s bones. That had been an utter disaster, Dean was shaky and on edge the entire flight. He had thrown up several times and been exhausted when they arrived at the destination. 

This time when Dean had agreed to go, Sam hadn’t believed him, convinced that it was all an elaborate joke. Thankful for the distraction from his grief, Sam had decided to play along. He didn’t realize Dean was serious until the moment his brother drove the Impala into the long term parking area. Sam was shocked and immensely proud of Dean for doing this even though he didn’t have to, but he also didn’t have any doubts regarding how rocky the trip would be. 

The easiest course of action would be to give Dean a knockout and have him sleep through the majority of their flight, but unfortunately, easy never seems to work out for the Winchesters. Thanks to a rather nasty demon fight a few weeks ago, Dean has been reliving Hell, especially when he sleeps. Winchester nightmares are intense and terrifying and Dean, in particular, tends to get violent. So, yeah… unless the passengers on the plane don’t mind a screaming, raging, swinging six-foot-two guy, it is best to avoid sleep aids. Which  _ also _ means no motion sickness meds because those pills cause drowsiness. According to the web, there is a non-drowsy version, but Sam couldn’t find it in any of the stores he checked. 

No medicine equals no sleep, and no sleep equals zero relief so as per usual, it will be solely up to Sam to keep his brother calm during the twelve-hour flight there… and back. 

Sam pushes a hand through his damp hair and sighs into the phone. Jody hurries to reassure him, “Sam, I’m sure everything will be fine. You’ll be with Dean the whole time. That usually calms him down, right?” 

Sam glances to his right as she continues talking. Dean’s left leg is bouncing and he is leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. Even though he’s hunched over, his posture is stiff. Sam watches as Dean fidgets with the boarding pass clutched tightly in his hand and checks his watch… again. 

Jody isn’t wrong. Normally, just hearing Sam’s voice would be enough to pull Dean out of a Hell flashback, but right now things are a bit  _ uncomfortable _ between them. They have barely talked after an unexpected fistfight two days ago. Sam can’t even remember what they had been fighting about, but somehow, a friendly discussion had escalated into them trying to kill each other. The brothers hadn’t come to blows in a long time and their brawl greatly affected both of them. Sam had chosen to hide out in the library, taking solace in ancient lore, and dusty artifacts, while Dean retreated to the garage and blasted his music so he could vent and sulk with Baby. 

The only reason the boys are sitting next to each other now is that the terminal is  _ crammed _ . It’s filled with holiday travelers, businessmen in three-piece suits, and several large families, loud complaints and excited giggles melding together to provide a tense atmosphere while everyone waited. 

As Jody tries to convince him that everything will be okay, Sam observes the crowded room. He surmises that some of their fellow passengers must be vacationing together as several adults stand close together and watch over the mass of small children. Being late May, summer break has just begun for most schools and the kids who were once stuck in stuffy classrooms are now running around the terminal, working off pent up energy and squealing over their impending vacations. 

Thankfully, there are also a few children sitting near the window, coloring quietly. Two modelesque women who are no doubt dreaming of sun-kissed tans and pina colada are busy ignoring them. Sam snorts when he notices the group’s matching outfits. The boys are in shorts and the girls in sundresses, but  _ all _ the clothing is decorated with the same obnoxious floral pattern. Looking down at himself, Sam realizes he and Dean are rather out of place in their jeans, boots, and flannel. 

Hearing his brother’s lighthearted chuckle, Dean looks up and glares at Sam. He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by an excited flurry of kids who race past them. The children congregate in front of the large windows and point to a plane that has just landed in the distance. Sam glances over at Dean’s paling face and interrupts Jody’s description of Alex’s new job. 

“Uh, Jody? I’m gonna have to get off. Our plane just landed. I’ll give you a call when we make it to the hotel.” He hangs up without waiting for her reply and swivels in his seat so he can assess his brother. 

Feeling hazel eyes watching him too closely for his comfort, Dean quickly stands up. 

“I’m gonna hit the head before we board. Don’t let any sticky hands touch my shit.” He nods towards a group of toddlers sitting on the floor. 

Sam grimaces when he sees the strange jelly-like substance covering the children’s hands. He hooks his foot around his backpack and pulls it closer to his chair. Satisfied that it is safely out of their reach, he looks up to find that Dean is gone. 

“Dammit!” 

He decides to give Dean ten minutes before he goes after him. Sam is fairly sure the nervous man hadn’t been lying about going to the men’s room so he isn’t too worried. Sam chose these seats because they have a clear view of both the terminal and the large hallway they had come down. While waiting for Dean to return, he rechecks their itinerary and verifies they both still have their passports then finishes reading the book he brought. 

Just as Sam is about to get up to search for his AWOL brother, he sees Dean walking out of the men’s room. His face is ashen and the collar of his shirt damp. He must have run his hands through his hair, probably after splashing water on his face, because rivulets of water are still dripping down his neck. Sam doesn’t say a word as Dean approaches. 

Dean sits down heavily in his chair and leans his head back against the wall. He raises his fist and coughs, then sniffs to clear his sinuses. Getting sick in public sucks, but the aftermath is always the worst part. His nose is still running, his mouth tastes like shit, and his stomach feels unsettled. 

He catches Sam’s worried stare and rolls his eyes.“I’m fine.” Sam sighs heavily but wisely chooses to stay quiet.

Dean turns away and closes his eyes, cursing his stupid phobia. Logically, Dean knows that it is ridiculous to be afraid of flying. People fly all the time without crashing. But it isn’t just their impending flight that has him freaking out this time. No, the panic attack was actually triggered by a little girl screeching as a boy who is probably her brother, tickled her. It was like a screwdriver plunged into his brain, prying back the door that contained his memories of Hell. 

_ Screams… pain… torture…  _

Dean shakes his head to clear away the horrific images and tries to calm his breathing. Sam opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. Dean is glad his brother isn’t pushing for details, right now Dean doesn’t really feel like talking. For the next ten minutes, they sit there, lost in their thoughts and worrying about things they have no control over.

_ “We are now boarding our First Class passengers. Please line up and have your boarding pass ready.”  _

Dean twists the ring on his finger and stares at the large plane looming outside the window. His thoughts tangle, racing by so fast he can’t quite contemplate one before the next runs it over.  _ What if they crash? Is Sammy still mad at him? What if this is their last day on Earth? He’s spending it being a little bitch! Crying over an unlikely scenario, losing his breakfast because some kid dared to scream a few feet away? The hell is wrong with me! I haven’t survived more than one Apocalypse, gone toe-to-toe with Lucifer, come back from the freaking dead just to be scared to death by a fucking airplane! Come on, Dean! Pull your head out of your ass and deal with it. Like Dad taught you. It’s just a plane. It’s fine. You’re fine. Quit being a pussy and man up!  _

“Dean!” 

He looks up and sees Sam standing in front of him, duffle in his hand, backpack on, arms crossed. Obviously waiting for Dean to get with the program. 

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and rubs his temples hoping to stave off the headache he can feel building behind his eyes, “Yeah?” 

“They just called our row.” Dean nods and stands up hefting the straps of his matching duffle onto his shoulder.

As they wait in line, Dean’s heart races and his palms grow sweaty. He wipes them on his jeans and fumbles with his ticket. Sam pauses at the threshold, waits while Dean hands the gate attendant his boarding pass. She smiles at him and wishes him a good flight. He barely nods in return. 

Dean takes a deep breath and steps onto the enclosed ramp that leads to the plane. Enclosed… like a coffin. The feeling of claustrophobia grows as he squeezes through the cramped doorway of the plane and imagines the contained chaos hiding behind the curtain that separates first class and business class. He slows his steps as he approaches the second divider, knowing that coach will be inhabited by all of those families from the terminal.  _ So many sounds. So much going on at once. _

Dean swallows and pulls his collar away from his neck, the cabin noisy and stuffy. Everyone is busy trying to shove their luggage into the compartments and get situated in their seats. Many of them are smiling, eager to get to their sunny destinations… but all Dean can see are the faces of the souls he tortured. His breath quickens, his eyes search frantically for his brother.  _ There. _ Three rows ahead, on the right.  _ Make it to Sam. Just keep walking and make it to Sam…  _

He hovers as close as humanly possible while Sam shoves their duffels into the overhead bin and then inches his way over to the window seat. Dean starts to follow, breathing a bit easier now that his brother is within reach again. Sam offers him a timid smile and Dean responds with a tight grimace.  _ Come on, Winchester. Focus on Sam. You can do this.  _

He doesn’t see it coming. One minute Dean is sliding into his seat, praying for the plane to take  _ just take off already _ , and the next he’s elbowed in the gut by an older woman who is struggling to juggle a toddler on her hip and a large tote bag on her arm. 

Sam watches his brother’s green eyes darken and quickly jumps into action. He catches Dean’s fist just as he is about to deck the harried mother. It would have been fine then… if the kid didn’t scream. But scream he did, right into Dean’s ear. 

Dean’s hands fly up to cover his ears as he digs his nails into his scalp.  _ Make it stop! _ He falls to his knees, blocking the aisle and causing the other seated passengers to turn towards the commotion. Those still trying to board the plane begin hollering about the holdup as a stewardess pushes her way towards the front. Sam ignores them all and kneels in front of Dean. Tears stream down his brother’s face while he rocks back and forth, desperately fighting to hold on to reality as Hell tries to take over. 

Sam gently covers Dean’s hands with his and leaned close, “It’s okay, Dean. I’m here. Listen to my voice. Let it ground you. You aren’t in Hell, Dean. You’re here, with me.” 

“S-S-Sammy?” 

Sam nods and slides his hands down to rest on his brother’s quivering shoulders. The tremors will stop once he calms down but until they do, Sam has no chance of getting him into his seat. If he tries right now, Dean will regress further, instinctively curling up and hide until the voices stop and the memories fade. 

The young stewardess stands over the two large men in the aisle and sighs, “Sirs? We need you to clear the aisle so we can finish boarding.” She offers a tight smile and gestures to the line behind her. 

“It’s his first time being on a plane since he got back. Just give him a minute to adjust,” Sam doesn’t look at her when he answers. He couldn’t care less about the long line of upset passengers. He is focused entirely on the tight grip Dean now has on his shirt. 

Her smile turns condescending, “I’m sure he does, but we have a schedule to keep and he’s preventing us from getting everyone settled. Other planes are waiting on us to leave, so I need you two to move to your seats.” 

A balding man sitting a few seats away listens to the exchange and scowls at the young girl’s ridiculous antics. He turns to the man with long hair kneeling on the floor and asks, “He’s a Vet?” 

The lie fits easily with his earlier explanation so Sam decides to go with it. Isn’t the first time they’ve used it to explain what happens during a Hell flashback, and it won’t be the last. Sam nods in response to the man’s question and eases an arm around Dean’s shoulder when he whimpers. The loud discussion is aggravating his condition. The man nods back to Sam then stands up and walks around the brothers, forcing the stewardess to stumble back.

He crosses his arms and glares down at her, “This man fought for your country, your  _ freedom _ , and you’re telling me he can’t even have a few minutes to catch his breath?” 

A soft murmur from the crowd makes the young lady cheek’s redden. She stutters, “I- I... We have- a schedule to keep… Sir.” 

“That may be. But this young man is unable to comply with your request right now. Besides, I’m sure these nice folks--” the man gestures to the rest of the cabin, “--won’t mind waiting until this young soldier remembers he is no longer stuck in a dusty hellhole. That he’s safe  _ at home. _ ” Sam slowly rubs his brother’s arms as applause breaks up the stale air inside the plane. The young lady huffs and tries to argue. Two more passengers stand up and join the bald man, successfully blockading her from Sam and Dean. 

“Sammy?”

Sam looks down and meets his brother’s thankfully focused, somewhat embarrassed gaze. He breathes a sigh of relief, “Ready to get up?” 

Dean nods and grabs onto the arm of the aisle seat while Sam lifts from the other side. The younger man walks in first but keeps one hand on Dean the whole time. He’s not willing to give up contact, knowing without it, Dean will fall back into icy oblivion. Dean follows on shaky legs and sits down in the middle seat. He’s already planning to move if no one takes the aisle seat but isn’t betting on it after seeing the mass of people still waiting in line inside the terminal. 

Once she confirms the brothers are seated, the stewardess backs off and the rest of the passengers are finally able to board. Sam takes a quick look and sees that the plane is full _ to the brim.  _ Even so, the boys manage to claim their row for themselves. Dean has a feeling it has to do with the same reason people keep saluting him and try to shake his hand. If he wasn’t feeling so awful, he would ask what that is all about. 

Dean does okay for the first third of the flight, even managing a catnap against Sam, but once they make it to the halfway point, things go downhill  _ fast _ . 

It starts with a rough bout of turbulence that turns his stomach. He can practically feel it jump up and down as he grips the armrests. Then the kid seated directly behind him wakes up and decides to practice his kickboxing moves on Dean’s seat. To top it all off, Sam encourages ( _ forces _ ) him to eat some crackers and drink half a can of ginger ale. Now, at eight hours into the flight, Dean is burping every five minutes and clutching a barf bag in his lap. He hasn’t had to use it yet, but he knows his good luck won’t last. 

Sam, meanwhile, read off and on, dozed for a bit, and is currently keeping a watchful eye on Dean. He was the one to pull out the airsickness bag and hand it to his big brother. He ordered the fizzy drink and asked the stewardess  _ (not the bitchy one, thank Chuck) _ for a bag of crackers. He hates forcing his brother to eat while he feels so awful, but it will help if Dean has  _ something _ in his belly. 

They switched seats about an hour ago when Dean started feeling nauseous. Sam reasoned that it will allow him a little privacy if he does throw up. Dean already feels bad enough knowing that he is going to get sick, that the other poor passengers have nowhere to go to escape the ‘sick man’. 

The plane hits another rough patch and the older Winchester grits his teeth, willing his stomach to behave. It is useless though because the kid decides it is the perfect time to continue his can-can routine and with one good kick, Dean groans and brings the white bag up to his face. He quietly coughs into the sack and waits. 

Sam turns in his seat so he can block the other passenger’s view and rubs his brother’s back. He feels Dean’s muscles tense under his hand and then hears a splatter as Dean throws up. He burps up three more mouthfuls of sick before tying the bag off and setting it on the floor. Feeling weak, Dean leans his head against the closed window. Sam gently picks the used bag up and switches it out for the clean one the attendant hurries to provide. He nods his thanks to her and hands it to the sick man prepping for round two. 

Dean pukes off and on for the next two hours until his belly is empty and all that fills the bag is sour air. Sam holds him steady and only releases him to trade out sacks when the kind attendant came by. Each time she asks if they needed anything else, each time Sam gently declines. The older Winchester finally falls asleep after dry-heaving painfully for about half-an-hour and Sam takes the opportunity to make a trip to the bathroom and walk around for a bit. A few of their fellow passengers sneer and grimace when he walks by, but Sam just dons his best bitchface and ignores them. 

Breakfast is served two hours before they are due to land in Dublin and Sam gently shakes his big brother to wake him. 

“Dean, wake up. I need you to eat something before we land.” 

Dean’s head rolls to face him and he grimaces, “No way. I’m not eating anything until I get off this fucking plane.” 

“Dean…” 

“Don’t give me the puppy eyes, Sam. I feel like shit.” 

“I get that, Dean. But you need something to eat.” He holds out a small bottle of apple juice, “Or at least drink. You’re most likely dehydrated.” 

Dean huffs and snatches it, “Fine! But if I puke again, it’s on you.” 

Sam really hopes he doesn’t mean that literally... 


	3. On the Road Again

Sam glances over at the passenger seat and sighs when he finds his brother still sleeping. The pain meds Dean is on for his broken ribs and fractured eye socket prevented him from being able to drive home after the last hunt so Sam is currently guiding the Impala through the mountains. Sam would never admit it to his big brother, but he is a little nervous about driving around the tight curves and dark tunnels in the unfamiliar landscape. 

He gently depresses the brakes to ease them around another blind corner and groans when he sees what appears to be an ‘S’ up ahead. He watches a few other cars disappear and then reappear, confirming his suspicion. Dean groans in his sleep and tosses his head against the seat. 

Sam huffs and grips the wheel even tighter, “_ Figures_. You wouldn’t have a nightmare when we were on that nice flat road a few miles back. No, you had to wait until we’re stuck in the fucking mountains!” Dean readjusts his position in the seat and for a moment Sam thinks he may wake up. He’s praying he won’t. Dean doesn’t do very well riding shotgun for long periods of time and the twisty mountain road will probably make it worse. 

Another tunnel looms ahead and Sam slows the Impala down as it passes through the darkness. On the other side, he clenches his jaw locating three more in the distance. “Great! That’s just… great.” 

“Where are we?” Dean squints with his good eye and sits up. He yawns and reaches for the bottle of water next to him. 

Sam shrugs, “About an hour away. You should go back to sleep.” 

Dean leans forward and rests his head in his hands, “Can’t.” 

“Shit. Think you can make it? There isn’t really anywhere to pull over.” 

Dean sits up and then lays his head back on the seat. He throws one arm over his eyes and yawns again, “Yeah. I know.” He licks his lips and then breathes deeply through his nose. 

Sam casts him a worried glance, “Dean?” 

The other man doesn’t open his eyes, just swallows thickly and then hums in reply, “Hm?” 

“You alright?” 

Dean burps into his fist and takes another sip of water, “No… Tell me about the case.” 

Sam tries his best to divide his attention between the curvy road and Dean’s worsening condition as he shares the story he read a few days ago about the ghost of a sailor’s wife who committed suicide after he was lost at sea. 

“... So then about two weeks ago, the killings increased, no longer just targeting sailors either, now any adult in town is fair game.” 

“You think she’s just pissy about her husband or is it--” Dean burps and pauses to roll down his window, Sam slows the car down in case he’s about to be sick, “--something more? She obviously blames the--” 

_ thick swallow _

“--other men for his death, but why is she going after the others?” He belches wetly and scoots closer to the window. 

Luckily, the road is no longer riddled with tunnels so Sam can safely reach over and grab onto the back of Dean’s shirt when he hauls himself up and hangs out the window. He retches noisily and curses the spray of watery puke that decorates the side of the Impala. Dean isn’t fond of hanging over the edge of a mountain so once the threat of vomiting is no longer imminent, he lowers himself back down and digs around in the glove compartment for a napkin. He blows his nose then uses the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. 

Sam hands Dean the bottle of water and then continues their conversation, “I’m thinking the women is because of jealousy. She probably doesn’t think it’s fair that her husband was taken and theirs got to live.” 

Dean rests a hand on his stomach and shrugs, “Yeah, I guess. We digging up a grave?” 

“I’m not sure. Her obituary didn’t mention--” he stops when Dean coughs and leans out the window to throw up. Once Dean’s body is back in the car, he continues “--what they did with the body. I’m hoping it was buried, there was mention of an estate sale and there are no other living relatives so if she was cremated--” 

Dean wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and sighs, “The ashes would have been scattered in the ocean. _ Great. _ So we’ve either got a nice and easy salt n’ burn--” he rinses his mouth and spits out the window, “--or we’ve got a whole fucking weekend of trying to track down all of her belongings and figuring out what she’s attached to. _ Awesome. _” 

When they finally make it out of the mountains, Sam pulls over so Dean can get out. He’s looking pretty bad, pale and shaky, coughing wetly and wincing whenever an unproductive heave pulls at his tender ribs. He only takes a few steps away from the car before bending over with his hands on his knees and releasing the flood of vomit that he’s been holding back for the last ten minutes. It’s mostly water, thankfully, so the resulting mess isn’t too bad. Once Dean is finished emptying his stomach, he leans against the car for a few moments, breathing in the fresh air and letting his body adjust. He gets back in and Sam gently eases the car back on the road so they can continue. 


End file.
